A Little More Time
by Fyrie
Summary: Harry Potter and Discworld Crossover - To save Sirius, Dumbledore breaks promises and laws that have been in place for eternity.


In truth, the whole affair had turned into a complete disaster. The truth, Dumbledore knew, would never stand up in the court of the Ministry of Magic, the entire situation implicating Sirius more than ever.

He knew it would be breaking dozens of wizarding laws, knew that he was breaking the dozens of promises he had sworn that he would not abuse L-space, a concept that very few wizards younger than himself knew about.

It had taken well over fifty years of friendship to convince dear old Nicholas Flamel to confide in him and even longer for him to convince the... well... others who knew about the situation to trust in him.

And now, for the sake of one good man whom his testament had sent wrongfully to prison, he was about to shatter that trust.

Still, better to do it and save a decent life, than to leave Mr. Black to suffer death. If it meant never using the gifts he had been granted, then he would accept it as a sacrifice for right.

Leaving young Mr. Potter and Miss Granger sitting in the Medical Wing, he moved to the door, the moonlight washing over the two youngsters upon their respective beds, both looking at him nervously. 

"I'm going to lock you in. It is," he said, checking his watch briefly, "five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it." He saw the sudden understanding on her face. "Good luck."

He pulled the door closed, turning the key with a quiet click, closing his eyes with a sigh, hoping that they had understood just what he had told them to do. Miss Granger, doubtless, would be terrified of the repercussions, but he had asked this boon of her and now, he could but hope that they would succeed.

His thoughts, however, were interrupted by the gentle scratching swish of a broom on the stone floor of the hallway, his hand lingering on the round doorknob. His eyes opened slowly, but he did not look around.

The sound stilled and the scent of cigar smoke reached him. "I suppose you were hoping to avoid me."

Turning, Dumbledore gazed over his glasses at the small, bald old man standing there. He was clad in tangerine robes that were tainted blue by the light of the night, leaning on his broom, a cigar between his fingers.

"Perhaps," he admitted. "How long have you been there?"

"I was sweeping the Great Hall this evening," the Monk - for that was what he was - said, stooping to scrape out his cigar and carefully sweeping the ash up into the pile of dust at his sandeled feet. "Got somewhere we can talk?"

The Head Master nodded wearily. "I suppose my office would do, but..."

"They won't even notice," the old Monk said, shouldering his broom. "Off we go them, Mr. Dumbledore."

Reluctantly, though his hope was somewhat kindled by the fact that the little old man had done nothing to stop what he had done - as far as he knew - he lead the way through the winding passages and up to his office.

Even as he crossed the threshold, several of the Head Masters and Mistresses in their frames stared in astonishment at the monk, who was shuffling amiably along behind the present Head Master.

"I suppose I have breached your regulations," Dumbledore said, as soon as the door closed behind the Monk.

"You think so? What could give you that idea? Aside from the fact you've arranged for two children - children! - to go back in time and tidy up a little mess that you left them to deal with." 

Dumbledore rubbed his furrowed brow. "Ah..."

"Funny, isn't it, how apt one syllable words can seem in these situations?"

"Mr. Tze..."

"Call me Sweeper, please," the Monk interrupted quickly with a gesture of a wiry, vein-lined hand. "Mr. makes me sound so old."

"Sweeper, surely you understand why I did what I..." The look the Monk directed at him suggested he was deeply offended that Dumbledore would even have to ask such a thing. "I could not let them..."

"Do the wrong thing," Sweeper finished Dumbledore's sentence, moving his broom in an idle circle on the floor of the office. "Yes... well... I have to agree that, were I in your shoes, I probably would have done the same thing and perhaps asked about adding a new pair of buckles, but - all the same - this was a breach of regulations."

"Will Miss Granger be reprimanded?" the Head Master asked, sinking into his seat, looking somewhat weary. "After all, I was the one to provide her with a Time-Turner."

Sweeper positively winced at such a crass term for the art of managing Time. Time-turners were, in fact, a device that had been invented by a Monk called Qu and, as always, the rest of the History Monks had disapproved, so they had been passed off into some areas of Magical communities, under very tight control.

"As I could see," the Monk said, "she did require it, Mr. Dumbledore, but that is no excuse for giving her reason to abuse it."

"Will their task be quashed, then?"

The Monk looked down at the head of his broom, swinging it briefly from side to side, then he raised bright black eyes to the old wizard. "Not this time," he said after a moment. "It has already happened."

Dumbledore looked up sharply. "It has?"

Sweeper grimaced again. "When your boy was fighting off those nasty creatures, his future self showed himself and cast the spell that saved them all. The boy, presently, thinks he saw his father, but give him time and he will work it out."

"So Harry did actually cast that Patronus..." Dumbledore murmured wonderingly, half to himself.

"And when he understands what he is meant to do, he shall know he's done it before, because he saw himself do it, so he will be able to do it again." Sweeper toed a piece of parchment in front of his broom. "It really is quite remarkable what a time loop will do for the thought process of a teenage boy."

"Do they succeed?" Dumbledore asked suddenly.

The old Monk gazed at him. "Perhaps," he replied cryptically. "You know I can't tell you the future anymore than you're meant to change the past, Mr. Dumbledore." Those sharp, black eyes stared intently at him. "I assume you won't make such a mistake again, or we'll have no choice but to undo everything you attempt to fiddle with and if that is the case," A hairless brow lifted in wordless threat. "Paperwork can be a nightmare, I'll have you know."

The wizard nodded at once, rising from his desk. "It will just be this one time."

The old Monk returned the nod, then smiled toothlessly. "You do have nerve, though." he said. "And in this case, it was very much the right thing to do. Just, next time, leave it to the Professionals." 

Dumbledore quailed like a recalcitrant child under the Monk's dark gaze. "Of course, Mr. Tz... Sweeper." 

"Glad to hear it," Sweeper shambled over to Fawkes, giving the Phoenix a firm look and with a puzzled squeak, the bird burst into spontaneous flame, the Monk lighting his cigar before the Phoenix crumbled to ash. "Useful bird," he observed, before blowing a smoke-ring. 

"But he just..."

Sweeper gave Dumbledore the look usually reserved for the deeply stupid, tapping a little cigar ash onto the bemusedly-squeaking baby-Fawkes peering out of the semi-litter-tray under his stand. 

"It made no change to anyone but the bird, Mr. Dumbledore and it got my cigar smoking nicely." There was a pause, as he blew another smoke-ring. "I suppose I should get you back, wouldn't you say? Can't have them finding you blurring there, can we?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, but it felt strangely like his body went _plib_.

Turning around, he found young Mr. Potter and Miss Granger standing just behind him, one of his hands still on the doorknob, the other still grasping the key and he smiled at them. "Well?"

"We did it!" said Harry breathlessly. "Sirius has gone, on Buckbeak."

Dumbledore felt a great swell of relief and gratitude that Lu Tze had allowed him this one shift in time. "Well done," he said, both to the children by his side and to the Monks who had helped it to happen.


End file.
